les jours triste

Dear K-

I miss it all. I miss it more than I have in a long time. When I think of living out my days here in the Midwest, in some suburban house with egg-white siding, I can feel my soul sigh and drift to a distant dark space where it tries not to admit that this is life. I want to be back in the mountains, hiking through the Tatras, with the rhythmic pacing of Slavic tongue awaiting at every greeting. My life here is nothing to scoff at, mind you. It is content. It would definitely make do and be an enviable life to many if I continue on this trajectory. All the more, then, it seems so strange and unseemly to be restless, to desire to return to Eastern Europe and disappear from American soil.

Even we have lost connection. What remains here but the broken shells of former moods and inclinations, no longer a correspondence but rather a segmented diary of individuals. The entries have grown more listless ever since I returned 4 years ago. If it had been my choice, if it had been within my power, I would have probably never returned here.

Some days I wonder what life would be like if I had never left Brno.

I miss it. I don’t want to be here anymore, and I am not sure how to approach that subject or whether I should bury these sentiments as deep as I can and hope I can find satisfaction with this American life and prevent these sentiments from erupting again.
Hopefully your new love is treating you well and you are finding the recent autumn weather pleasant.

Restless again,
-K